


The Witch of Kievan Rus'

by grimwoode



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Body Horror, Fluff, Gen, Mild Gore, Minor Violence, Sibling Bonding, Supernatural Elements, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-24
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2018-08-16 23:29:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8121784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grimwoode/pseuds/grimwoode
Summary: When the poltergeist of a witch is accidentally summoned into their home, Russia and his sisters are forced to leave. Wanting to go back home, the three siblings work together to exorcise the poltergeist.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So just a disclaimer: there aren't any funny accents in this fic because the understanding is that everyone speaks Russian. For the same reason, I won't be using cutesy names to express familiarity--our babies addressing each other by their human names should be enough indication of familiarity.
> 
> I am doing some research into Slavic witchcraft, but please keep in mind that I'll be taking artistic liberties so I hope none of the readers will be offended!
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are appreciated, and enjoy!

It was a good thing little Russia was so familiar with the winter season. The young nation almost died today, no thanks to that Germanic oaf, Teutonic Knights! He told him it would be dangerous to fight on the lake because the ice was still too thin, but the idiot went ahead and charged at him anyway! Both their troops were wiped out, drowned or frozen in the icy water. Teutonic Knights was lucky little Kievan Rus’ was nice enough to help him out of the water before he could drown with his men. The worst part was that the little mongrel didn’t even say thank you. He can be so ungrateful and tactless.

Since his troops all died, the little blond Russian was now walking home, alone and soaked to the bone. He was shivering violently, the moisture turning to ice against his skin. His ragged garments turned stiff like a pleated sheet of ice. Russia decided to pick up twigs and broken branches along the way so his big sister could make him a fire for him to warm up. His mind wandered towards his memories of warm, cozy fires, bundled up with his sisters in their old blankets, their cabin walls protecting them from the harsh wind. He became more eager to get home.

He was approaching their little cabin, his arms filled with a bundle of firewood, when a loud wailing started. Startled, Russia dropped the wood to clamp his frozen hands over his ears, gritting his teeth against the head-splitting noise. He dropped to his knees in the snow, paralyzed by the sound until he saw his sisters, Ukraine and Belarus, running from the cabin, the door swinging wildly behind them and threatening to fall off its hinges from the wild wailing that erupted from their home. Ukraine was firmly holding Belarus’ hand, and when she saw Russia crumbled in the snow, she picked him up and ran deep into the woods. She ran and ran and didn’t stop until the shrieking cries were just a dull, haunting buzz in their wind.

“What are you doing?” cried Russia from under Ukraine’s arm where he’d been hoisted, his ears still ringing from the shrill sound. “Sofia!” He’d been so looking forward to a warm fire to cuddle up and every step she took crushed his hopes more and more.

Ukraine’s only reply was to shush at him loudly. After that sudden, endless wailing, she wanted nothing more than quiet. Young Belarus whimpered at her harsh whisper. They continued to run as far their legs could take them until they were exhausted. They stopped in a clearing that seemed to have been a recently abandoned camp. Probably the Poles again—another country that refused to leave Russia alone.

“What are you doing?” Russia asked again, his agitation growing worse at his sister’s uncharacteristic coldness.

“I was running,” panted Ukraine, lowering her tired body into the trampled snow.

Belarus whimpered with guilt and fiddled with the hem of her dress, sitting herself down on the wide stump with her legs tucked under her to warm her feet up. Her shoes were too worn out for this much running in the snow. “Please don’t be mad at me, Big Brother,” she pleaded, frowning from the inconvenience she caused them.

“Why would I be mad at you?”

“What did you do?” Ukraine asked from where she lay on the ground. She had no idea what occurred either. It was all so sudden and it was only now that she stopped running that fear started to grip at her.

“I was just talking to this old woman,” whined Belarus defensively. “She promised me candy if I let her in the house and you never give me enough food anyway!” she said in one breath.

Russia gave her a look of disbelief. “Belarus,” he said, dumbfounded, “that’s the oldest trick in the book.”

“But Natalya, there wasn’t any old woman in the cabin,” reasoned Ukraine.  It had just been the two of them since Russia went out with his troops.

“Yes, there was,” she whined.

“I was at the door right next to the stove and no woman came in!”

“She came through the wall in the bedroom,” explained Belarus, angry that they weren’t listening.

Russia and Ukraine both froze from this revelation.

“Natalya,” started Russia, pausing as he let this all sink in. He wasn’t getting his cozy fire anytime soon, he realized. “You let a ghost into our home.”

“She told me she was a friendly witch,” she defended.

Ukraine gasped. Now was not the time to explain to their baby sister that friendly witches didn’t haunt people’s homes. “I’ll start a fire,” she sighed. “Ivan, could you catch us something to eat?”

“But I wanna go back and get my candy!” whined Belarus.

Neither of them had the heart to tell her she wasn’t getting her candy anytime soon. It was about as likely as Russia getting his cozy fire, which he’d given up on by now. He was still stiff and frozen as he hunted for their dinner and was pleasantly surprised when he came back and saw Ukraine sitting by a small fire, warming up her own hands. Russia prepared the rabbits he caught and cooked them over the fire. Although it warmed his clothes and his fingers, the occasional gust of wind through the trees made it impossible for him to relax in the comforting warmth. He wanted to go home…

Belarus was still pouting quietly on her tree stump. It didn’t look like she moved from there since they camped here. Russia secretly started calling it the Sulk Stump.

“How will we get the ghost out?” he asked, hoping it could be done soon.

“The wise women in the nearby village will know what to do,” said Ukraine, having already thought about it. “We should see them in the morning.”

“But we need shelter,” frowned Russia.

“There’s a farm on the other side of the forest,” mumbled Belarus. She’d stolen some of their goats in the past to bring home.

“We should sneak into the barn after dark,” suggested Ukraine. Russia could only agree. A barn with animals and walls and hay bedding would be far better than the snowy ground they were currently sitting on. Since they were already used to agricultural labour, the smell was hardly a deterrent.

As they sat around the dwindling fire, Russia recounted to them his encounter with the Teutonic Knights. He wrapped his cloak a little tighter around his shoulders as he spoke, remembering the chill he felt since the lake. It hadn’t completely gone away yet, even though he was sitting just inches from a fire. They spent the evening talking about the usual mundane things. At some point they even discussed their potential futures as Nations.

When night finally cloaked them and the fire light dwindled and went, they got up to walk to the barn Belarus mentioned. They made sure to be as quiet as possible as they snuck into the small barn, soon finding the hay bails and huddling up. They piled into the hay and bundled themselves in burlap they found laying around. There was an occasional bleat from a goat or a cluck from a chicken as they tried to sleep, stealing each other’s body heat. Russia shivered with every creak in the wood and Ukraine whimpered with every whisper of the wind. Belarus was the only one that seemed calm, untrembling, but she kept her eyes vigilant, constantly peering into the dark for movement. She realized she made a mistake today. She didn’t know how to fix it, but she knew from her siblings’ behaviour that she should be afraid.

Russia would have thought Belarus had been sleeping peacefully if it weren’t for the fact that he could feel her heart pounding against his chest through her back. He wrapped a protective arm around her. She curled into his chest. The three siblings braced themselves against the other and slowly, hesitantly, they drifted off to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, all three of them were chilled to the bone. Their steady breaths came out in puffs of white fog and an occasional tremor wracked their otherwise unmoving bodies. But Ukraine awoke in a cold sweat when she realized she was not dreaming the voices speaking in whispers not three feet from her and her younger siblings.

“Oh, Nikolai,” said an old woman mournfully, “they must’ve been just orphans.”

“And they probably froze to death in here,” sighed a man who must’ve been named Nikolai. “And now I will have to bury them before they curse my barn,” he grumbled.

“Oh dear, I wish they had come to the house instead,” bemoaned the woman.

“And then I would not have to bury them,” groaned her husband, annoyed.

Ukraine relaxed realizing these humans meant them no harm. In fact, they seemed nice, she thought.

Russia had a different opinion. Their mutterings woke him up and now he was ready to rip their throats out with his fingernails. Not caring to pretend he was dead or still sleeping like his big sister, he slowly untangled himself from the girls’ stiff limbs and sat up, stretching and groaning loudly while fixing a menacing stare on the older couple.

Seeing this young boy, pale blue from cold and his fingers, nose, and ears black as death, rise and fix them with such a terrifying, violet glare would haunt them until their last days.

Belarus chose this moment to also sit up, revealing that she’d been listening as well. The bags under her eyes have turned a deep purple, making her eyes look sunken and her pale face like that of a skull. She rubbed her eyes with her frozen fingers. “Big Brother, I’m hungry,” she whined.

“The nice lady said she would feed us, Natalya,” murmured Ukraine with a sleepy sigh. With Russia’s protective arms around her, she was completely frozen where she lay.

Russia relaxed from his sisters’ presence, his menacing appearance softening into a cold smile. “Oh, yes please, I’m hungry too,” he said.

The couple stood in stunned silence a moment before sighing in relief. They didn’t know why they were relieved.

“Alright, young’uns. Get off the floor and come into the house,” said the bearded Russian.

Belarus and Russia happily got up and stretched out their stiffness.

“I can’t move,” murmured Ukraine in embarrassment. The man moved forward and scooped her up in his arms with the burlap wrapped around her in order to carry her to the house.

The four of them walked to the small house near the barn where smoke was already rising from the chimney. Russia’s mood instantly lifted noticing this and he started running to the door to plop himself down in front of the fire, reaching his frostbitten hands out to it. He could almost feel the chill sizzle from his limbs. Belarus sat herself down next to him and Ukraine was set down on his other side. The man went back out to tend to his animals like he originally intended to do.

“Thank you for letting us into your home,” Russia said jovially.

The woman hummed and nodded in response. She was still trying to decide whether or notthese children were cursed and haunting their homestead when she finally served them each some breakfast in wooden bowls.

“So where did you three come from?” she asked, trying to sound conversational to mask her suspicions.

“We live in a cabin on the other side of the forest,” said Russia, curling his fingers to get the black frost out. They were slowly going back to their normal colour.

“Oh? How did you end up in our barn?” she then asked, watching the three of them carefully. The transformation they were undergoing was not lost on her.

Ukraine finally sat up in turn, curling up against her brother’s side and resting her head on his shoulder. “A ghost is haunting our home,” she said wistfully, still frozen for the most part. “Do you know any wise women that can help us?”

The woman considered it. “There are a few in Kiev,” she informed.

“I was not aware,” said Russia in surprise. It was where their boss lived, after all. “It’s a two day’s walk. Is there no one closer?”

“No one I know of,” the woman said sadly. “My husband brings wool and meat to the market on Fridays if you’d like to wait until then,” she offered. “Riding on the back of a cart would certainly be more comfortable than walking.”

“We can walk there before then,” grumbled Belarus.

“Suit yourselves,” replied the woman, looking forward to getting these haunting children out of her household sooner than later. She let them eat their food in peace until they decided to leave.

“The wise woman leading the sect in Kiev has a house is on the waterfront of the Dnieper River,” she said, dressing them in some of her son’s old winter cloaks, lined with bear hides.

“Thank you, ma’am,” said Russia, smiling warmly at her as they all left.

Russia’s mood skyrocketed since the day before. He finally got his warm, cozy fire and he got a new, warmer cloak at the same time!He could finally feel his fingers again! “That lady sure was nice,” he said, still smiling long after they’d left.

At some point on their walk, Ukraine started singing and Russia hummed along with her. Belarus simply sulked quietly. Russia wondered, not for the first time, if she would ever smile at all. He hoped some day he could be the one to break her moroseness and give her a reason to smile.

Along the way, Russia found more hare traps and looted the dead critters for their dinner. His sisters gathered firewood. When the sun started to set, they began looking for someplace to spend the night and before nightfall, they found their shelter. They were lucky to have found a tree as large as they had with high roots to shield them from the harsh wind. Like the night before, Russia prepared the rabbits and Ukraine prepared the fire and cooked the meat. When they were sated, the mood was already high in the sky. Belarus by then had already cleared out the den between the roots of the tree of all the snow, leaving only autumn leaves and lichen over homely earth.

Joining their cloaks together, the three of them huddled at the base of the tree just as they did in the barn the night before. Now they were warmer and more confident about the quest ahead. They were much less frightened of the witch haunting them. Russia slept on his back with both his sisters huddle under his arms against his sides. All three slept soundly, untroubled, and dreamlessly.


	3. Intermission

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It may not seem like it right now, but it’ll be very obvious in the next chapter that this is relevant to the story as a whole.

_Maria sat at her kitchen table mixing herbs for the little charm pouches she was making for her twin daughters. She tied the little bags tightly, wishing them eternal love, happiness, and prosperity. They have come of age now and were ready to leave their mother’s cozy little nest._

_Several years earlier, she made a similar pouch for her son and the consequences have left her heartbroken. She was determined not to make the same mistake again._

_He was such a sweet boy, and he’s still such a sweet man. He fell in love so quickly and so naively, he couldn’t see the evil creature she really was. He was once a sweet boy that cherished nature and all living things just as much as his mother, but the woman he married showed no respect for human lives, let alone those of other living creatures._

_No, she wouldn’t allow her daughters to marry cruel and manipulative men. And deep down, she hoped Anna would prove her wrong in the end. Time will tell._

_She set the two neatly made charms on the windowsill next to flowers her daughters had picked for her that morning and had left to dry. Since it was a nice, warm spring day, the girl’s since went out to the village to help however they could—something her husband and son used to take part in as well, but then her husband fell gravely ill and his son married a Christian. The old witch felt her heart ache with sadness again at what her son had lost._

_Wishing to push these dark thoughts aside, Maria walked to her pantry to gather ingredients to make fresh bread for that night’s dinner. She sat at her kitchen table to blend her ingredients and knead her dough, letting it sit in a large wooden bowl her darling Igor made for her years ago and covered it with a clean cloth to let the dough rise. As she worked, she thought of how much she missed him and wished he’d visit soon._

_***_

_It was midday and even though Igor would normally be tending to his sheep, he was walking home._

_‘No, not home,’ he thought, chastising himself. ‘Mother’s cottage hasn’t been my home for a long time.’ A ‘den’ his wife calls it. A place where dirty creatures live underground like the vicious foxes they had such a hard time keeping away from their chickens. Anna’s words, not his. He always liked foxes._

_At least he did, until he met his wife Anna._

_He never thought of his mother’s cozy, sunlight home as cavernous, nor did he think of his mother as cunning or manipulative. At least not until he met Anna._

_He always knew his mother was a witch, but he always thought her magic was to help people. It wasn’t until he met Anna that he realized how naive he’d been. His mother was human, after all, and humans were still flawed._

_Of course, he still refused to believe his mother had an evil bone in her body. At least not until Anna miscarried that morning._

_Her screaming agony was still so vivid in his hears as he walked home, clutching the wooden cross he wore around his neck since he married._

_“No, not home!” he shouted, startling himself with his own outburst. Anna had sworn with tears running down her pale, once rosy cheeks that his mother did this to her. His mother cursed her because she took him away from her den._

__

_The village wise women believed she would have a healthy pregnancy. There was no reason for this to happen to fast and so suddenly. They were meant to be happy!_

_But his mother always hated her and she was a witch. She was the only one that could do this to him, that could possibly be responsible for Anna’s pain and the death of his stillborn child._

_“Avenge me, Igor!” cried Anna, spitting with anger. “Avenge our son!”_

_And Igor, as always, obeyed._

_Now he froze at the edge of the clearing by the hill where the witch’s den was built into. It was a warm and sunny spring day and the rays beamed down from between the thin tree tops, illuminating the garden on either side of the winding pathway. To his life was an array of herbs and colourful blooms while the right contained Maria’s bountiful vegetable garden. The sunflowers were just beginning to poke out all along the front of the house. The cottage itself wasn’t much of a cottage since most of it was built into the hillside. Standing in front of it as Igor was doing, it appeared like any other house, but looking from the side, it appeared very narrow. The roof over the built part had slanted windows so light could rain into the front of the cottage all day long and a wide chimney poked out from the hillside. Building this home was his father’s pride and joy up until his slow and painless death._

_He noticed an array of fresh baked pastries sat on one window sill while the other contained a bouquet of wildflowers. He quickly noticed two small lavender pouches tied with neat little bows and his anger was quickly reignited, burning away the nostalgia that overcame him moments ago. He dropped the cross he’d been holding and walked over to the wide-open door, finding his mother occupied with her needlework by the hearth with a small fire blazing in it to bake her bread. The cottage was warm, bright, welcoming, and smelt so wonderful, Igor’s mouth watered._

_If only his reasons for coming weren’t to avenge his wife and child._

_Maria looked up when she heard boots on the hard-packed earth of her home. “Oh, Igor!” she exclaimed, overjoyed to have her earlier wish come true. She set her work aside and awkwardly got out of her chair to walk over and embrace him. “I’ve missed you so much, my boy. Why don’t you stay a little while and we can have some fresh bread together,” she offered him, about to wrap her thin arms around him until he pushed her away. “How’s Anna been? I hope you’ve both been eating well,” she said conversationally, moving around to grab a knife and some butter for the bread._

_He felt guilt wash over him. He still couldn’t believe his sweet old mother could hurt him like this. It quickly dissipated remembering his marital bed was soaked with his wife’s blood this morning and had to be burnt along with his child.”Why, mother?” he asked, his teeth grinding and his voice cold as winter. His hand grazed the long curtains as he backed away from her, fisting into the thick fabric._

_Maria was shocked. “Why what?” she asked concern etched into her features and her voice thick with worry. It hadn’t occurred to her that she should be afraid of the man blocking her only exit._

_“I know you never liked Anna but why would you hurt us like this?” he asked, tears welling. He was slowly walking towards her altar where she always kept an oil-lit flame. It flickered as he approached._

_“Igor,” said Maria, her voice calm as she tried to reach out to him again, “we haven’t spoken in months. I haven’t the faintest clue what you’re talking about.”_

_“I’m talking about Anna!” he shouted, tears finally streaming from all his sadness and anger. “Anna miscarried my son, my boy, and she knows it was you! You witch!”_

_He was throwing his arms about as he lashed out at the old witch, the curtain he’d been clutching catching the oil lantern. Oil spilled over the fabric and the hardwood flooring of the entrance. The fire caught quickly._

_Maria froze in fear, backing into the deepest part of her home. Igor fled. Filled with guilt and shame, he ran out the door and slammed the weather-beaten timber behind him. Before his guilt could completely overcome him as he knew it would, he grab the spade on the side of the cottage and barred the door by wedging the blade deep into the ground, jamming the handle against the door handle. He expected the witch to come banging on the door but she couldn’t even reach it. The blazing fire blocked her path. She curled on the ground at the deepest part of her home. She never anticipated to die by her own blood._

_Igor stumbled to the opposite end of the clearing, collapsing at the foot of a tree and staring in horror at what he’d done—what he’d destroyed._

_‘Avenge me!’_

_Anna’s words still rang hollow in his ears, angry and vengeful. He’d avenged her, but at what cost? Her raging command managed to block out his overwhelming grief, but slowly, he started to weep. His wife’s torments and taunts couldn’t stop his mother’s wailing as she suffered a slow and painful death._

_In Maria’s dying moment, she grieved for her daughters’ inevitably cursed futures. Her hopes for them burned away with their charm pouches on the windowsill. She wept for their fruitless futures and cursed the Christian whore that turned his son into her villain. She prayed she would never conceive again._


	4. Chapter 3

Belarus was fascinated by the large city before her. Russia and Ukraine had been here many times, but they usually left Belarus at home because she was still too young. She was glad to finally be included in this trip, even though they didn’t have much of a choice.

“The farmer’s wife said to look for a blue house but I don’t remember ever seeing one here,” said Ukraine as they walked along the river. Most of the buildings looked dreary and, honestly, a little soggy and unkempt .

Belarus stayed close to Russia’s side. Although she glanced around occasionally in awe, the amount of people around made her nervous. “Is it that one?” she asked, pointing at a house that looked like it might’ve once had blue paint but that peeled and chipped away over time.

“Ah,” said Russia. “I’ve never noticed that house before.”

“Nor have I,” chimed Ukraine, taking Russia’s hand and quickly making her way there, dragging her siblings along.

The three of them paused in front of the door while peasants and merchants moved along noisily behind them. The sisters stood behind little Russia nervously. He was nervous too; he just didn’t show it. He needed to be strong and brave for his sisters, after all.

Taking a deep breath, he knocked loudly on the door and waited. It wasn’t long until two elderly women answered. The two looked at the children expectantly, waiting for them to state their business.

“Uh,” stumble Russia, “may we come in?”

“Why?” asked the woman on the left.

“Because I asked nicely?”

“You did, but why did you ask it?” said the woman on the right.

“We’re looking for a wise woman that can help us with a ghost problem,” explained Russia. They were starting to make him uncomfortable with their hard glares.

The two women exchanged a glance and nodded, a keen look in their eyes, and stepping aside to let the three children in. Hesitating and now frightened, they entered the dimly-lit home. Heavy curtains covered the windows and most of the walls were painted a dark and somber colour. The only light in the parlour off the hall came from slivers of sunlight that somehow escaped the curtains in the windows, as well as two oil-light lanterns on an altar.

_Witches_ , thought the three young nations.

“Sit,” said one of the women, pointing at the round table in the middle of the parlour. In the dim light, Russia could just barely make out an embroidered cloth draping the table.

The other woman—they looked like they could be sisters, they realized—lit a candle from one of the lanterns and brought it to the table before sitting down as well. “Speak,” she said with an impatient wave of her hand.

Russia could now more clearly see that the table cloth seemed to be telling a story. It was very detailed work.

“Natalya, why don’t you tell them what happened?” coaxed Ukraine, realizing Russia was distracted and probably wouldn’t speak for them. He wasn’t there when it happened, anyway.

While Belarus recounted what happened with lots of encouragement from Ukraine, Russia was observing the witches and their home, ever vigilant. Admittedly, a large part of his attention was on the tablecloth. It seemed to tell some sort of story which spiralled towards the centre where the candle sat. Whatever story it told, it looked like it ended with fire. So far as Russia could tell, it told the life of a woman who must have been very close to whoever embroidered the cloth. He couldn’t help but think it was a bit grotesque to keep over a table where people eat.

He was pulled out of his reverie when he realized the room fell silent. He noticed the two women exchange a glance again before each folded their hands before them on the table. “What is your name?” one asked.

“Sofia, Ivan, and Natalya,” answered Ukraine.

“What is your _real_ name?” asked the other, fixing them with a sharp glare. Ukraine fidgeted.

“Kievan Rus’,” replied Russia, daring her to question them again with an equally sharp glare. To his surprise, they nodded.

“We will help you control your ghost problem,” one said.

“You will?” replied Ukraine, surprised.

“Of course,” replied the other. “It’s our duty to our great nation.”

“What are you names?” said Russia, growing sceptical over how much they seemed to understand.

The two women exchanged another glance and nodded. “I am Agafya,” said one.

“And I’m Aglaya,” said the other.

“All right. Continue,” commanded Russia. The women scoffed at him.

“Under normal circumstances, we would tell you to call your domovoi to scare away and banish the intruding spirit,” explained Aglaya.

“But we can sense that you children aren’t quite normal,” added Agafya. “You don’t have an ancestor you can call domovoi.”

“No, we don’t,” said Russia.

“And this complicates the situation,” said Aglaya. She got up and wrapped her shawl a little tighter around her shoulders.

“We will have yo use a more… imaginative… method to tame this spirit,” relayed Agafya while her twin rummaged in the cupboard under the alar. “But before we explain how, you must know our services don’t come without a price.”

It was the nations’ turn to exchange a glance.

“What sort of price?” asked Russia, suspicious of what they might want. They must have realized the kids have no money.

“Your blood,” replied Aglaya, her expression somber enough to send a chill down their backs.

“No,” said Russia firmly, refusing to make himself vulnerable enough to them.

“We will not accept money from you,” said Aglaya. “We only wish for your blood, which is thousands more potent than mere human blood.”

“We’re merely thinking of the children that can be saved, considering the level of immunity you three have compared to us,” said Agafya, her expression saddened. She laid a bowl and a small knife down on the table between his sister and the nations. “If we could use your blood in our protective spells, many lives can be saved.”

“You’re lying,” said Russia. “Only evil witches use blood in their spells.”

“We used to use our own blood for a long time, collecting our own vitality and essence to heal terminally ill children, but we’re growing old and frail,” she explained.

“And not only are you young, but you’re the embodiment of our country,” said Aglaya. “Your blood would be precious to us.”

“And of course, it would be the only payment we require for unlimited use of our services,” promised Agafya.

Ukraine punched Russia for his attention, fixing him with a warning glance. Russia pouted. “It’s not like you need all of it,” frowned Belarus, wanting all of this to be over.

Russia groaned. “Fine. But if this doesn’t solve our problem, you’ll regret it,” he warned the two old women.

“We will solve your problem,” promised Agafya.

Aglaya grasped Russia’s forearm, holding it firmly over the bowl. “It won’t hurt so long as you don’t squirm,” she said, grasping the knife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A domovoi is a protective house spirit from way back when Slavic people practiced paganism before Christianity became the norm. The domovoi usually takes the form of the previous owners of the house such as grandparents.
> 
> I don’t know whether or not Slavic witches use blood in their spellwork (or how they use it if they do). I’m using creative license here.


	5. Chapter 5

A few days later, Russia and his sisters were back home on the edges of the woods. It seemed so quiet that they began to suspect there was no ghost after all and that they’d gone to the city for nothing. Still, they hung around the trees at the edge of the forest, worriedly watching their home.

“Can we please go home now?” whined Russia, picking at the bandage on his arm. He couldn’t understand why it hadn’t healed yet like all his other injuries.

“I’m scared,” whimpered Belarus, barely loud enough for either of her siblings to hear.

“We can do this,” encouraged Ukraine, her voice hitching as fear gripped her too.

Russia groaned inwardly. He’d take care of it all himself if it wasn’t for the soreness from the cut the witches gave him. It seemed a much heavier price to pay now considering all they got was a few bits of rope and an incantation out of it. “Belarus, you’re going to get the ghost to come out of hiding while Ukraine ties the Knot and I read the spell,” said Russia.

“But Big Brother, what if I get hurt?” she pouted.

“You’re not. She’s just a ghost and can’t actually hurt you,” he lied.

Belarus frowned and huffed, choosing not to argue since she wanted to go home too.

“What if it doesn’t work?” fretted Ukraine, stalling for more time.

“Then there’s a nice goat farm on the other side of the forest,” said Russia. Now it was Ukraine’s turn to huff, but she had no argument against it—at least not in the heat of the moment. “Then we go?” he asked impatiently.

Belarus nodded. Ukraine stalled a little longer before nodding as well.

All three of them slowly crept up to the side of the house. Peering inside, nothing seemed out of place. Everything was as they left it. The normalcy of it—aside from their own behaviour at the moment—irked Russia.

Belarus went in first. Their door still stood open as they left it and some snow drifted into the entrance. She quietly inched towards the stove, grabbing a pan and a spoon. She waited until Russia and Ukraine were each within sight, both with their own tools to perform the binding spell on the which. Once each gave a nod indicating they were ready, Belarus started to bang the spoon against the underside of the pan, creating an incessant racket. She didn’t stop for several minutes, but the ghost never appeared.

Belarus groaned in frustration. “This is useless,” she said and stopped her banging, slamming the pan against the floor with a loud clang.

Russia was getting more and more nervous, weary of the sudden quiet.

“I guess we’ll just keep the spell handy in case she comes again,” sighed Ukraine, stuffing the threads into her pocket. She grabbed a broom and started cleaning the snow out of their home.

Russia was baffled at the sound of defeat in her voice. “Are you giving up?” he asked them.

“No, but what can we do if she doesn’t show up?” shrugged Ukraine. “We’ll just have to wait. Let’s not get obsessed, Brother.”

Belarus tidied up the stove and started a fire before going up to Russia and clinging to him. He still hadn’t moved from there he stood. “Big Brother, come sleep with me,” she murmured, tired from the adventure they had.

Russia sighed. “All right, I’ll tuck you in,” he said, taking her hand and helping her up in the bed in the adjoining room. He pulled the covers up to her chin, wrapping her in snuggly.

Her gaze fixed onto the wall across from her, refusing to close. “I thought you said you were tired,” he said.

“She came from there,” murmured Belarus, her eyes glazing as she stared in fright.

Russia glanced to the wall, suddenly feeling a chill run over him, but whether it was from fear or the cold, he couldn’t know. “I’ll be right back,” he promised, going to the main room for a bucket. He filled it with snow and melted it over the fire Belarus started earlier before going back to the bedroom. He sat in the chair by Belarus’ bed, shifting so he was facing the wall she continued to stare at. “I’ll look out for you,” he assured, starting to unwrap his bandage to clean the wound.

Happy to know she was protected, Belarus turned and soon fell asleep.

Russia was on his guard, determined to protect his sisters. He tried to distract himself by going through the motions of cleaning and bandaging the wound. He hated getting injuries, but they usually healed within a day, usually a few hours. It had already been three days and this one refused to heal, and it annoyed him. In the fading daylight, he could just make out the bloody gashes in his arm as he gently dabbed at it with a wet cloth. It creeped him out, not only because it refused to heal, but also because the witch, for some reason, didn’t cut in a straight line. She cut a design of interlocking triangles, framed by a much deeper square where they’d gathered most of the blood they wanted. It looked like it she carved a small flower right in the middle.

He hoped it wouldn’t leave a scar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know nothing of actual Russian/Slavic knotwork so this is purely fictional.


	6. Epilogue

Weeks turned into months and the ghost still never showed. Russia felt it was safe to leave his sisters alone when they stopped thinking and worrying about it, so he finally went out on his expeditions once again.

Just as he feared, the witches left a nasty scar on his arm. Worried that it would spread false rumours, Russia always wore long sleeves to cover the scars, even though it was almost the peak of summer and the weather was getting warm and humid. Thankfully they were heading up north towards the Baltic Sea, so the weather would be much cooler there.

They reached the edge of the sea and Russia’s troops decided to rest in the forests nearby. Since this was not their territory, they were heavily on guard against attacks, especially from the Teutonic Knights who liked picking fights any chance they got in the name of their God.

Russia was patrolling the outskirts of the forest, finding a village nearby on the sea. Not seeing any soldiers amongst the peasants, he didn’t think much of them and went back in the forest towards his own people until a few local armed men blocking his path away. Ahead of them was a much shorter person in matching armour. Russia could just make out his devilish red eyes from several meters away and a chill ran up his spine when he recognized him. He was in no mood to go through all this again.

“You won’t get away from me this time, Kievan Rus’!” yelled the little nation with a mischievous laugh, his voice hoarse from shouting.

“Leave me alone,” shouted back Russia, his fists clenching at his sides. He was surprised to feel a sharp pain in his arm but thought nothing of it—at least not right now.

“You come into _my_ woods and expect me to just let you walk away?” retorted the young germanic nation. He unsheathed his sword and started running towards Russia. “You’re stupider than you look!”

Russia unsheathed his own sword then, realizing he had no choice. Besides, they weren’t battling over a lake this time. He felt no danger beyond the enemy charging at him.

Before their swords could clash, a flash of misty grey light shifted between them, screeching loud enough to push Teutonic Knights to the ground with enough force to crush his lungs. His soldiers fled at the unnatural occurrence while their nation spasmed before recovering enough to crawl away. “What the hell is that?!” he panicked, seeing a second shadow form next to Russia’s. “You freak! You’re possessed!” he shouted, turning tail and running away with his men.

Russia froze in fear as he looked at the ghost that had materialized from his own shadow. She had stopped screaming and had turned towards him, staring at him. She couldn’t harm him, knowing she was bound to him. Russia couldn’t escape the feeling that the old witch looked familiar, but he couldn’t pinpoint where he’d seen her before. He couldn’t have possibly seen her before: her face was monstrous with her skin charred and ashy, sickening grey. The skin of her throat that formed that stomach-turning wail was melted away, leaving her vocal cords and larynx bare. Russia wanted to vomit seeing her, until his gaze crossed hers and he felt sympathy wash over him. She seemed sad.

Soon, her form melted away into shadows again, returning to Russia’s own with a fresh, searing pain in his arm. He pulled his sleeve up to see that his markings were glowing a bright orange that was quickly fading back to the usual pink scarring.

He realized with horror that the witches of Kiev had tricked him and his sisters. They didn’t help them to exorcise the spirit at all.

The twins bound their mother’s soul to his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait, but here ends this short fic :)
> 
> Comments are always appreciated, either good or bad. You can always message me on my [Tumblr](http://grimwoode.tumblr.com) too.
> 
> I hoped you enjoyed it and I look forward to writing more!


End file.
